Anthony DiNozzo was a Constant
by smileyanne
Summary: Though he still didn't understand it...Maybe it was about time Gibbs simply accepted it. Set during season 12, but written before it premiered. NO slash.


_A/N: So I don't do Tony and Gibbs a lot. And this ISN'T slash, just friendship and you know? That unique little relationship that's all them. This is set sometime in season 12. Not beta-ed._

_I stole the beginning plot line about the children from a episode in season 10._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS_

* * *

><p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs was glad that he was finally home. Home where he still had a basement, boat, and a bottle of bourbon.<p>

Home, after a long-strenuous day at work. He didn't think he knew of a better sounding word at the moment.

Tossing his keys over the side of the railing, he trampled recklessly down the rickety staircase. His cellphone soon followed the poor keys, along with the pager that DiNozzo had nagged him into wearing. Both electronics 'conveniently' fell into the open can of paint that sat open on the cold stone floor.

His jacket was shucked off onto a pile of sawdust and his polo quickly followed it.

In just his undershirt, jeans, shoes, and gun he made his way across the basement to where his alcohol sat calling to him. The thick padding around his abdomen pulled and stretched uncomfortably. Pausing for a moment in his quest for the elusive numbing liquid, he untucked the sleeveless shirt from his belt. With fumbling fingers he peeled back the soiled gauze that was taped just above his navel, revealing a long cut that stretched from side to side.

It looked like someone had tried to gut him.

...Maybe that was because someone had tried to gut him, so he figured that was an accurate enough description.

He still couldn't tell how deep the cut was but considering the blood looked to have clotted...Gritting his teeth he grabbed the edges of tape that held the gauze in place, and with one quick move he peeled the sticking material off. The soiled bandages were thrown across the room with his shirt and jacket, and a gaping cut was left exposed.

Ignoring the dried blood and dirt marring his stomach he pulled his undershirt down and continued on his quest for bourbon.

After clinking around some mason jars his hand finally wrapped around the neck of the bottle he was looking for. Foregoing any type of cup/jar, he simply popped the top and took a deep swig.

While the liquid burned its way down his esophagus, he tilted his head back and sighed.

Today...today had been hell.

* * *

><p>It had started off normal enough, if you-<em>of course<em>-decided not to concentrate on the date.

Though to be fair, the date would probably only be significant to himself and one other person. And maybe two other people. It should've been a good day, ending with a steak dinner with the other person who the date was significant to.

So with a little bit of optimism he'd gotten ready for work, this time intentionally not stopping for his morning coffee. Knowing that when he got there, there would already be an extra big cup of the good stuff on his desk.

When he got there, he realized that it was earlier than he thought-he just guessed that was a perk of never sleeping. To no surprise (once he realized the time) of his the bullpen was empty; McGee and Bishop were most likely still asleep in their beds.

And yet there was a cup of coffee sitting on his desk. Curious, he had reached down and smiled when he realized it was still warm.

Tossing his gear behind his desk, he planted his feet up and leaned back in his chair. He had to withhold the urge to wince when he heard the sound of his bones cracking.

'You aren't getting any younger,' that little familiar voice in the back of his head had spoken in a mixture of chiding and goading. He'd groaned, snatched the fresh cup of coffee and brought it up to his lips. The bitter tang was a sweet relief from the aching in his head and around his eyes.

Those little aches and pains that were becoming such an everyday commonality, just helped to support that observation.

He'd been content enough to sit back and enjoy his morning treat while he waited for McGee, Bishop, and the rest of D.C. to wake up. And for DiNozzo to come out from wherever he was hiding.

And he'd still had been okay with that plan when his cellphone had started to ring. He'd been fairly positive that it was dispatch, and if he didn't answer then they would call DiNozzo. But as morbid as it may be he was okay with letting a homicide go for another hour until his team made it in.

The only reason he had even decided to answer the call was to keep it from going to DiNozzo. And that was the first time today he'd heard the words; murder, kidnapping, abducted, critical missing.

Two siblings, a brother and a sister, ages 10 and 16 respectively, had been taken out of their home in the middle of the night. Their nanny had been found dead by the neighbor.

That had officially taken away his decision to allow his two team members some extra sleep. Already grabbing his gear he was jotting down the address as he rode the elevator down to the parking garage, and was already in his car on the way to the scene when he phoned DiNozzo.

"Hello?" DiNozzo had answered the way he usually did when he saw his Boss' name on his Caller ID-with his normal voice. And if he was just a tad bit more cheerful in his greeting than usual for some 'unknown' reason today, Gibbs hadn't let on that he'd realized it. Instead he'd pushed down the brief twinge of guilt he had felt at the news he had to deliver that would officially ruin all of their day.

"We got a critical missing-siblings. Brother age 10, sister age 16. Nanny found murdered in their home, mother deployed and father on classified work. We gotta get going quickly, I'm on my way to the scene right now. Phone McGee and Bishop, tell them to get their asses out of bed." He'd debriefed quickly and efficiently, getting right down to business.

He heard DiNozzo breathe in in a quick harsh motion, and again he had to repress the bitterness he felt that this had to happen today of all days. But DiNozzo going into his, rarely seen around others efficient, second-in-command mode said in a voice that betrayed nothing, "On it Boss."

The crime scene was a block away at that point as he rattled off the address to the younger man. It was in sight when he'd added in a somber tone, "And Tony?"

"Yeah Boss?"

"I'm just going to stay long enough to get the scene secured for NCIS. Ducky and Jimmy will meet you and the others there. I'm gonna head back to the office and see what I can get on the father."

"That's not all you wanted to tell me, Boss." DiNozzo's words had cut right through to the point of the matter.

Gibbs huffed a frustrated sound, and spoke what he was trying violently to deny. "Make sure McGee keeps a special eye out on trafficking alerts NCIS has setup. The girl's sixteen, and with all the recent activity we've had coming in lately sex trafficking can't be ruled out."

DiNozzo could've replied with anything, any movie quote at all. Instead he'd simply said, "Some day, huh, Boss?"

When he heard the click that signified the end of the conversation in his ear, he snapped his phone shut. "Yeah DiNozzo, some day."

* * *

><p>Gibbs' stomach churned at the remembrance of the scene. He'd seen murders before, heck he'd committed...<em>things<em> at the orders of state and own personal vendettas. But he never got over the sickening twist in his stomach when he saw a new remembrance of just how messed up mankind was. Or the guilty little twinge of adrenaline he felt every time he realized a new chase was on.

He still felt the rush of anger in his veins when he remembered the new sicko currently sitting in lockup.

His stomach was tied in a knot, a dull throbbing was radiating somewhere in his body. And some part of himself knew what he was doing wasn't healthy. That he shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach-.

When was the last time he ate? Honestly, he didn't have a clue.

How many pills had he'd taken earlier?

Contrary to popular belief he did feel pain. And having a knife slice through his skin did tend to cause just a _tad bit_ of it. So after the little impromptu fight, and before the others had shown up on the scene. He'd gone to his car and grabbed some materials out of the first-aid kit that took up permanent residence in his trunk.

_Gauze._

_Tape._

And then without even thinking about, or in fact looking to see what name was on the bottle. He'd scooped up the bottle of pain pills he knew Ducky had sneaked in there, and dumped out a handful.

Now that he was trying to remember, he couldn't recall the amount of little pills he'd taken. Or how strong they were. All he knew was that his team was going to be arriving on scene soon, and he didn't need them distracted from the sicko and the situation before they found out where he'd hidden the children.

He took the fact that currently he wasn't lying down high on pain pills as a good sign.

Because _yes _a knife wound hurt, even for him.

* * *

><p>Truth be told-they were lucky. The case could've taken longer than a day, a <em>lot<em> longer than a day. And the children might've never been found, or worse they could've been found too late.

Because once more his gut had been right, even when he'd wanted so desperately for it to be wrong.

After arriving on the scene McGee and Bishop had gone straight to work on his orders. Take the perp back, interview witnesses, secure the scene, etc... They hadn't even looked twice at the fact that they'd arrived right after their Boss had been involved in a knife fight.

But...then Duck and DiNozzo had arrived.

Luckily-as morbid as it may be-for him, Duck and DiNozzo had only glanced once over his bloodied form. Then, considering they were involved in a critical missing, had gone straight to work. DiNozzo helping out Bishop and McGee, while Ducky did the necessary tending to their perp.

The bare necessities.

Not wanting to stick around and deal with the way DiNozzo was shooting glances at him, or the fact that Duck was almost ready to turn his attentions on him. He had grabbed the dirt bag himself and tossed him in the back of his own car.

But before he could take off with the perp, and have his own form of interrogation on the side of the road away from the prying eyes of the observation room...DiNozzo had hopped into the passenger seat.

Gibbs had been _this_ close to throwing him (ordering him) out of the car. Until he felt the gooey feeling of warm blood trickling against his bare skin underneath his shirts, and he knew for a fact that both DiNozzo and he understood that if he was left alone with the man in the backseat-he would kill him.

And DiNozzo had already helped to get him off a murder charge once.

He didn't deserve to have to do it again.

So he had let Tony ride along with them back to the office. Ignoring the weak protests of the injured man in the backseat, the guarded looks from the man in the passenger's seat, and the way he was slowly losing feeling around the area of the gash.

They had eventually made their way, semi-safely, to an interrogation room.

Where the threat of eyes everywhere would keep him from doing anything..._rash_.

* * *

><p>Ignoring the tell-tale soft thump he heard from upstairs. He refilled his glass with the numbing liquid and used it to suppress his shudder of disgust at the thought of what they'd learned in interrogation.<p>

It hadn't taken long to break the man. It never really did take long to break suspects when he had DiNozzo in the room with him. After the many, _many_ years (it felt...symbolic to be doing one on this day) they'd been doing interrogations together- they'd managed to somehow get into a rhythm of things. He would ask a question, DiNozzo would make a quip, DiNozzo would be serious, and he would play as if he didn't give a damn.

They worked off of each other perfectly.

Six minutes after entering (three was their record)... and the man was singing like a songbird.

* * *

><p>Only two hours afterwards, and here he was-everything wrapped up in a nice little bow.<p>

After they gotten out of the man currently in lock up, that he didn't have the children anymore. That the children he'd only taken because the opportunity had arisen, that's right it had had nothing to do with the sensitivity of their parents work. They had only been taken because of the decline of the human civilization.

Those victims of opportunity had already been on their way to a buyer.

Those children, the man had sold them _both_ to an unnamed buyer...the girl _and_ the boy.

Once they'd gotten that sniveling confession, the man had become irrelevant. Considering he knew absolutely nothing at all about the person he'd heartlessly handed over two children to. He was forgotten after that point, along with the gaping wound in Gibbs' own stomach.

In those two hours he'd yelled at McGee to do something on a computer (he couldn't really care less what he'd been doing). Told Bishop to plan something (whatever she'd done hadn't really fit into the grand scheme of things), and had allowed DiNozzo to follow him silently to the person who could get them the information they needed.

It had been nice to see Miranda again, even under the circumstances.

He couldn't help but snort when he remembered the reactions she and DiNozzo had had to each other. DiNozzo had just sort of been sedate (now that he thought about it DiNozzo had been sedate all day-more so than usual _and given what day it was_...), yet the first time he'd opened his mouth Miranda had exclaimed, "Good God Jethro it's like looking at a younger version of you!"

* * *

><p><em>'Thump,'<em> another sound from the floor above him, and he ignored it once more. Instead taking another swig of the amber alcohol.

Yes, it had taken a little while, and he did owe Miranda a dinner. But finally, _finally_, they'd managed to track down the children.

Right at the handoff.

The worse thing that had happened to the kids, _besides_ seeing their nanny being murdered and the actual trauma of being kidnapped, was the fact that they'd been dressed up and pictures had been taken of them. Other than that, they-_thankfully_-hadn't been touched,

And it had only taken two of his stupid stunts; one knife fight, and then one raid that had turned into a fire fight. But it had all paid off, considering the fact those siblings were now being reunited with their frantic parents over a conference screen in MTAC.

He felt an aching throb of familiar jealousy, and took one more mouthful of bourbon.

It didn't help to ease the ache at all.

* * *

><p>When eventually those dull thumps decided to make their way down the stairs. He stayed where he was, his back to the steps. Surreptitiously, he tilted the bottle he held by the neck, trying to tell how full it still was.<p>

If he caught the light just right, it still looked like it was three-fourths full..._Right?_

He was half-tempted to stash the almost empty bottle underneath the cabinets, where the man coming down the stairs wouldn't notice it. Just to avoid the disapproving looks and lectures he knew he was in for, but when he moved to do it his stomach pulled and he ended up in a half bent over position-gasping softly.

Looks like the pain pills were wearing off.

Straightening up slowly, and abandoning the thought of hiding the bottle. He only hoped his little gasping scene wouldn't have been too noticeable, and that he could get through the rest of this visit without any commentary on either.

"So how full was that bottle when you started?"

_Yep_, he should've known it wasn't going to take long.

"What took you so long, DiNozzo?"

* * *

><p>"Oh, you know. Earning my paycheck. Haven't you heard? My Boss is a real bastard."<p>

"Is he now?"

"_Yep_, the worst. Not only is he a bastard, he's just a plain stubborn idiot."

Gibbs eyes slid shut in resignation, he should've known he wouldn't get away with it. Not with the looks DiNozzo had been sending him ever since he'd slid into the passenger seat.

God, both his parents were deceased. So why did he feel like a guilty teenager?

Even with his back turned to his SFA, he still heard his softly spoken question.

"Where did he get you Boss?"

"He didn't, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled back fiercely.

"Like hell he didn't!" Tony hissed, frustration urging on the burning inferno that was his annoyance at the moment.

"_DiNozzo_," Gibbs bit out through gritted teeth-warning him to back off.

"Don't _DiNozzo_ me!" Tony bellowed out, and the next thing he knew. Gibbs heard a startling crash echoing through the silence of his basement.

Spinning around in shock, the bottle abandoned behind him, and his hands clutching the counter for support. His eyes scanned for the source of the commotion...

The can of red paint left open at the bottom of the staircase, was spilled all over his concrete floors. For a moment his mind supplemented the red paint for the image of Ari Haswari's blood...

Spilled by the gun of his sister.

But the paint was spilled by something infinitely worse-the ire of a pissed off DiNozzo.

"Come on Gibbs," he shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration.

"Come on," he goaded the man, kicking the emptying paint can again for good measure.

Gibbs didn't move, didn't blink an eye. He wasn't even that mad-it was just paint.

"Seriously?! On any other day you would've been over here head slapping me into next week," Tony's arms were still in the air, but he was dancing around on his feet nervously-he was angry but had a nervous tension buzzing through him.

The kid was like a loaded gun.

"Prove to me. Prove to me that he didn't get you. Come over here Gibbs. Prove it," DiNozzo challenged him-taunting him with eyes that screamed 'you can't do it'.

Gibbs lunged, aiming for the back of DiNozzo's head. The man didn't even have to move out of the way.

He'd moved wrong, pulled a muscle-_something_. All he knew was that one moment he was lunging for DiNozzo, and the next he was hitting his knees _hard_-fire streaked across his abdomen.

His bad knee was barely on the cold ground long enough for it to stiffen up, but it was long enough. Long enough for him to know that he wouldn't have been able to get up by himself. He didn't have to though, almost before he had the ground, two muscled arms were wrapped around him-being careful of his abdomen.

DiNozzo manipulated them until he had an arm thrown around the top of his shoulders, and he had one wrapped around his waist. The other man took most of his weight and basically started dragging him towards the cabinet where he'd started out.

Gibbs would've fought him, but he was too busy trying to cover the now (re)bleeding gash across his stomach. And hoping like hell DiNozzo would leave and let him tend to it alone.

It was too late, he heard DiNozzo's sharp hiss when he saw the trickling red spreading across the white of his undershirt. With supporting hands he moved Gibbs into a position of leaning against the cabinet. Bending down, he yanked Gibbs' wife beater up and looked closer at the wound.

"Dammit Gibbs." he growled, "You aren't invincible."

"I remember a time when you thought I was Superman."

* * *

><p>He must have drank more alcohol then he was aware of. Because he didn't understand that his mouth was open and moving, until it was too late and he had already put his foot in his mouth. Tony didn't react immediately, instead with some awkward hops they managed to get the older man situated against the counter top.<p>

Bending down-without a moment of hesitation-DiNozzo yanked the other man's undershirt up. With not so gentle fingers, he poked and prodded at and around the wound site. When he accidently, or maybe it wasn't so accidental, prodded at a particularly sore spot, Gibbs couldn't hold in his grunt of pain.

"DiNozzo," his natural husky voice was even rougher with the pain, and yet he managed to swipe Tony's hand away with surprising strength.

Ignoring the reaction of the older man-Tony simply threw over his shoulder, "that's gonna need stitches."

"It doesn't need stitches," Gibbs argued, and DiNozzo's head whipped around in surprise from his position at the counter across from him. At the moment he was hunched over searching the shelf where he knew Gibbs was supposed to have kept his flimsy excuse for a first-aid kit.

Gibbs knew the moment he saw Tony's eyes narrow that fighting _that fight_ would only end in failure.

Once he'd found what he was looking for, with long strides his body tight and controlled in anxiety, DiNozzo moved back over to Gibbs, first-aid kit in hand. Tossing it on the counter beside the older man, he leaned over and around Gibbs' practically prone body-Tony took stock of what he had to work with.

He really should at least try and convince the other man to go to a hospital. But, just like Gibbs knew one way or another he was getting stitches-Tony knew there was no way in hell he was going to get Gibbs to go to a hospital conscious. And even as he snatched up the bottle of heavy duty pain pills, he had no intention of trying to secretly knock the other man out tonight.

Not on today.

Since Gibbs didn't seem inclined to move or help aid in the process of keeping him from bleeding out. Tony forcefully grabbed the right palm that was curled around the edge of the wooden counter top, and after unfurling his fingers DiNozzo managed to shake out a few too many pills in his hand.

Looking Gibbs in the eye he ordered in a firm voice, "Take them."

Ever the stubborn bastard Gibbs shot back, "no."

DiNozzo was trying valiantly to keep his temper in check-at least until he got the bleeding to stop. But to be fair, it _wasn't_ that easy. Today was supposed to have been a good-_even great_-day, and by this time he was supposed to have been sitting on a couch with a beer and a steak.

Instead here he was trying to convince his misplaced martyr of a boss not to let himself bleed out in his dusty, sawdust covered, basement.

Dropping the issue of pills for the moment, Tony's hands dropped without a second of hesitation-to Gibbs' belt buckle. Fumbling with it for a moment, he pulled the leather tongue back and got ready to pull it through the other man's belt loops.

"What the hell DiNozzo?! You could at least buy me dinner first!" Gibbs exclaimed in shock and indignation when he finally caught up to what his SFA was doing.

In reply he silently held up the belt that had been around his waist a moment ago. Holding it in Gibbs line of sight, he gestured for the other man to take it. When Gibbs didn't move to take it-only looked at him in slightly embarrassed outrage-DiNozzo simply rolled his eyes. In all the time they'd worked together they had each seen the other in compromising positions before, and taking a belt off was hardly a sin.

Pointing in the general direction of his wound DiNozzo said, "That _is_ going to need stitches, and you _are_ taking those pills before I come near you to sew you up-"

He held up a hand to stave off the argument that was coming his way.

"You are getting stitches Gibbs, and since the knife you so happeneed to have sliced through you was pretty crappy. Well, let's just say the tip broke and left a parting present in you."

He jingled the leather belt determinedly.

"And you know what that means."

Tilting his head back Gibbs sighed, and in one moved he popped the pills in his mouth and dry swallowed them all. Reaching out he took the belt in two hands, wrapping the ends tightly around his palms-he pulled it taut.

With steady hands, DiNozzo grabbed the small surgical blade that Ducky must've slipped in there at some point in time. That was probably only put in there with the intention of removing splinters, but it would do the trick for this-besides the piece wasn't even in that deep.

When he'd been prodding at it, he could feel it right below the skin.

In one hand he had the blade, and with the other he snatched up the bottle of heavy antiseptic. Twisting off the lid he poured a stream of it on the cool metal, the liquid poured down and splashed onto the wooden top. It wasn't like that was a big deal, one more stain just meant the bourbon and blood stains wouldn't be so lonely.

Crouching down he placed one steadying hand flat against Gibbs' chest, above the wound and right where he could feel the steady thrumming of Gibbs' heart. It wasn't meant to be creepy, it was just that there was no clue how much alcohol and pain pills the man had already consumed, and if his heart rate skyrocketed through this-then he needed to know.

Looking up he gave short nod to indicate for Gibbs to make the final move. With a deep breath-in through his nose out through his mouth-he opened wide and situated the leather material between his teeth-

With one last look shared between them-Gibbs bit down, and DiNozzo made the first cut.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes, and many cuss words later, and DiNozzo was putting the final touches on the other man's wound.<p>

"You know," Tony murmured conversationally, his voice deceptively calm, "if I ever decided to go the other route and go to med school. I would already have my first year done with the amount of times I've had to stitch you up."

"Not with these stitches you won't."

Tony made an indignant noise in the back of his throat. Tying the last stitch up, he leaned back on his haunches and examined his work.

Of course it wasn't as pretty as something Ducky could've done, but it would keep Gibbs' guts from spilling out.

"You'll live," he grunted. When another biting, sarcastic response wasn't immediately shot back, DiNozzo glanced up through his lashes while he gathered the equipment spread around them.

What he saw made him stop, his muscles locked and his jaw clenched. Frustration, annoyance, fury, and downright worry all warred against each other to be his most prominent response.

Shooting up onto the balls of his feet, he lunged forward, catching an elbow and cursing himself inwardly.

When he had glanced back up at Gibbs, the man's usually tan skin had been replaced by a sickly grey. His broad-usually straight and erect shoulders had been hunched, and he'd been listing towards the left.

And his left knee was mostly screwed to hell and back, so it wasn't as if the man would be able to _healthily _use it to hold is own weight for at least a few days. He should've realized that Gibbs' last response had been a bit too breathy.

"Gibbs," he hissed his heart pounding in his throat. Kicking away the scattered materials on the basement floor with one foot, he debated the merits of bundling the older man into his car and forcing him to an ER.

What if he'd done something wrong, and there was internal bleeding? What if the knife had nicked something he hadn't seen? What if he hadn't gotten it all out?

What if...what if he'd messed up somewhere and now Gibbs was hurt because of him?

"Come on," he urged, wrapping his arms around the others man's waist and taking the majority of his weight again. He started towards the stairs...all he had to do was get him up those stairs to the living room where he'd left his own cellphone...

"No. Stop," Gibbs protested, his almost scarily lifeless body regaining some of its earlier vigor.

"Gibbs," he growled, readying for a fight he wasn't prepared to lose.

"I told you DiNozzo-stop. That's an order," his boss tried to roar in his 'Probie frightening voice'.

"No! I'm taking you to the hospital, and that's an override by your SFA."

"If you don't stop you won't be my SFA for much longer!"

Tony didn't have a chance to try and save his job, not that he would've taken that option anyway. Before he could scream back that he didn't care about being an SFA to a dead Team Leader, Gibbs gathered his strength and yanked away from his hold unexpectedly.

Staggering back-his left knee still at an awkward angle-Gibbs basically fell onto the closest counter. Tony watched in extended shock, as Gibbs' arms flew back onto the tabletop for support, and the other man folded in on himself-panting heavily.

He made out between the shallow breaths the words, "just. Lost. Too. Much. Blood."

As soon as there was enough breath in his body for him to move, Gibbs reached behind him and swiped a long-necked bottle. He didn't know if it was the same bottle as before, or if it were a different one-and it didn't matter to him one bit.

Twisting a bit DiNozzo watched as Gibbs took another large swig of alcohol. Pain pills, knife fights, alcohol, gunshot wounds, those thoughts rampaged through his mind. And he was quite surprised when his next words came out as a deadly calm whisper and not a rip-roaring shout, "what the hell, Gibbs?"

Setting down the bottle, Gibbs stared at DiNozzo expectantly-awaiting the reaction he knew the man had been itching to get out all night. More or less, he knew what to expect and what was coming...

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?...Or do you just not care anymore?!"

"What?!" Gibbs spluttered, a look of confusion and shock on his face. What the hell did Tony think asking him this question?

"I'm serious," he reiterated, he was moving again. His nails scraping at his palms, and that same restless energy shifting through him once more. He wished he was at the gym right now, he wished he had a punching bag at hand to throw a few jabs at.

Hell, he could've taken Ziva on in a sparring match with the way he was feeling right now.

"Yeah. I realize that, but what would give you that impression?" Anger was quickly spreading over the older man's features, he didn't need to sit here in his own house and be interrogated. He didn't have to do this, why couldn't DiNozzo just mind his own business for once and leave him alone?!

"Oh I don't know," Tony's mirthless laugh had a hysterical edge to it.

"Maybe because you just ran straight into a knife fight without any backup?! Or, the fact that you've been collecting bruises and scars like they're trophies?! How about the fact that you've seem to have placed it upon yourself to increase the percentage of your stupid ass stunts to the point where it's honestly a miracle if you're still alive at the end of the day?!"

"What else are we supposed to do?!"

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, c'mon DiNozzo with Ziver gone what else are we supposed to do? Even you gotta admit, we ended up letting her take over most of the fighting, and now that she's gone..." Gibbs' voice trailed off and he cursed the amount of bourbon he'd drank, it had to have been enough to sufficiently loosen his tongue.

His answer was enough to still DiNozzo though, and for that he was glad. His inane pacing was starting to give him a headache.

"And of course you being the stupid, self-sacrificing, unnecessary martyr that you are-decided to take the new weight on yourself-!"

"Did you just call me stupid?!"

"That's not the point! Did it ever cross your mind that I'm a frikkin cop too?! And hell, if anyone should be doing the fighting, it should be me! I'm younger than you!"

"Not by much you aren't. Just drop it DiNozzo..."

"NO, I won't just drop it Gibbs! The way you've been acting lately, it's almost as bad as..." Tony paused for a moment, obviously thinking back on the many instances on when Gibbs was a stubborn bastard over the length of their partnership.

There were almost too many instances to count.

Still...he could think of a few that stood out particularly harshly.

"Ari," DiNozzo's tone was final, calm, trying without emphasis to drive home the importance in that word.

Gibbs face was his usual impassive stone.

"After Jenny?" DiNozzo arched an eyebrow, watching as Gibbs' jaw clenched tighter. He wondered how much farther he would have to go.

"Franks?"

"That's enough DiNozzo." He didn't bark his order, it was calm-authoritative.

At the look on his face Tony almost felt sorry for him-almost, but not quite.

* * *

><p>"Get out," Gibbs rasped, his head hanging low. He didn't feel like fighting anymore, he was just<em>...tired<em>.

Tony reached up with one hand and rubbed his shoulders tightly. He _wanted_ to get out. He wanted to run from the basement, all the way back to the apartment that Gibbs had helped him to pick out all those years ago...

He wanted to run and forget that this conversation had ever started.

Turning he slumped back to the foot of the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing he needed to ask one more question before he just gave up.

"Did you even remember what day it was?"

Gibbs head popped up, and his eyes met Tony's. Ignoring the lines in the kids-_man's _face that made him look every inch of his forty some-odd years. There was a little bit of the earlier fire in his response when he replied-.

"Of course I remember what damn day it was DiNozzo!"

"Well, I'm sorry-."

"Never say you're sorry-."

"YEAH! I know it's been _fourteen years Gibbs,_ I know your rules by now!"

After Tony had yelled his reply over his, they were silent for a moment. In a silent impasse of a stare-down.

It was like a wild-wild west movie. All that was missing was the sharp-shooters.

_'Fourteen years,'_ Gibbs thought. Today was the day that marked fourteen years that the kid (_no_, _man_-Tony hadn't been a kid for so long) in front of him had been following him around.

His relationship with DiNozzo was the longest one he'd ever had...

_Freaking DiNozzo._

The man who was notorious for not committing to anything. Who had only ever stayed at one job for two years at a time-_no more_! The kid he'd brought home from Baltimore had become the man who would hold the record fore lasting the longest on Team Gibbs.

Gibbs knew he didn't show it most of the time, but he appreciated the fact that they'd made it to fourteen years. Even he didn't understand how. Tony had started to trudge his way up the stairs, his head slumped low like a kicked puppy.

And Gibbs couldn't help himself, he in no way felt up for company. But after the day they'd had-and the fight, there was no way he could just let him leave...

"Steaks are in the fridge."

He chuckled softly as DiNozzo's head popped up, and though not all the weariness had faded from his fatigued face. Tony's smile was brilliant enough to make him look at least ten years younger.

"On it Boss," he crowed. Racing up the steps and through the doorway he heard the younger man's excited footsteps racing through his kitchen.

Gibbs couldn't help but smile.

Following DiNozzo back to that apartment, was one of the best damn things he'd ever done in his life-right on up there with marrying Shannon and having Kelly.

He'd had teams before the young man; Stan, Decker, and Jenny for one. But starting a team up with DiNozzo as his right hand man-it had been different. Sure they'd had their hit and misses when it came to agents; Blackadder, Kate, and..._Ziva_ for one (though neither man could ever bring themselves to regret the last two).

But when it all came right down to it, he should've known that when he had first handed DiNozzo his badge-it would be something permanent. That the cocky, ex-Baltimore cop, would be his first step on the road to something..._final_.

One day McGee would take one of those promotions Gibbs knew would soon be raining down on him. It was something every agent went through. A period in time when they had just hit their prime and the higher-ups would soon notice how good they were. McGee had been a good agent for some time now in his opinion, but soon the offers would be pouring in-better ones every time. Offers he knew that would one day be too good for him to pass up.

Tony had gone through it too, and Gibbs knew every time he had passed up one. For DiNozzo the offers hadn't stopped because he'd gotten bad at his job-people had simply stopped when they finally given up on the idea of trying to get him to leave the position he had now.

But McGee was different from DiNozzo, he was ambitious in his career plans-and Gibbs didn't begrudge him that right.

One day Ducky would decide Palmer was ready enough to take over autopsy, and retire for the nice solitude and peace of a golf course. Bishop would one day decide that she was ready to really settle down with that husband of hers, and once the thirst for adrenaline she seemed to have right now was over. She would settle back for that analytical desk job she was perfect for.

And Abby, one day he would convince her-when the team started to trickle away again-to get away. To take one of the lucrative jobs offered to her that would let her solve her mysteries, without being subjected to the world of blood and gore and death that she lived in now. One day he would convince her to take a job where she would be safe.

One day he would be able to make sure that they were all safe. That when he was out there in a knife fight with the newest villain coming after them, that he wouldn't have to worry about the people back home being in the line of fire.

He would be able to protect them all...all of them-except DiNozzo.

DiNozzo would never take on one of the desk jobs offered to him. Even if Gibbs got him set up with one, and fired him from his SFA position. There was no way the young man would take it-he would probably plop down on Gibbs' couch in his boxers and refuse to leave as protest until Gibbs gave up and gave him his job back.

Originally Gibbs had tried to get him to take one of the offers. Once the usual two years were up Gibbs had increased his bastard(ness) towards the young man in actual guilty hopes that he would give up and leave.

His nightmares for years had been about Tony not taking the out until it was too late. Until something had happened (like a bullet to the brain) that kept DiNozzo from ever being able to accept something else.

For_ so_ long that had been his greatest fear.

For _so_ long Gibbs had fretted over his notion that it was inevitable that something would happen to Tony the longer he stayed.

Decker, Jenny, Kate-Ziva and Burley had been smart to leave when they had in his opinion.

But Tony, Tony always said that he would take over the team one day. And one day-he didn't remember when-Gibbs had accepted the fact that DiNozzo _deserved_ that right to take over the MCRT one day when Gibbs retired.

That idea of Gibbs retiring was crap, and they both knew it.

Gibbs would never retire (the one time he'd tried it he'd decided it hadn't been for him), and he wouldn't quit. His life expectancy everyday was shortening by the hour over the simple fact that everyone knew Leroy Jethro Gibbs would die in the saddle.

And if there _was_ anything that could kill him, he knew there was no way in hell he would _ever _be able to convince the young man that was bouncing around in his kitchen to let him face it alone.

The day that he died at the hands of his job, would be the day that Anthony DiNozzo died too.

His SFA wasn't afraid to knock him on his ass every now and again, and just as surely he wasn't afraid to walk through hellfire with him. His right hand man was as loyal to him as Gibbs was a stubborn bastard.

"You coming Boss?" He heard the exuberant shout from upstairs. And the unsaid statement that if he didn't make it up the stairs on his own in the next two minutes-then unasked for help would soon be coming his way.

Gibbs took a step forward gingerly, trying to walk with the pain in his stomach and knee.

Though he still didn't understand it...he _was_ thankful for the past fourteen years.

* * *

><p>Later that night, as they sat in front of a roaring fire and chewed on cowboy-style steaks. Gibbs couldn't help but ask...<p>

"Tony," he said in between chews, "why did ya stay?"

He didn't have to elaborate.

Tony knew what he meant.

"Simple Boss," he said looking him in the eye.

"You never told me to leave."

Taking a sip of his beer, Gibbs finally came to one conclusion. After fourteen years of trying, it should've been pretty to clear to him about one thing.

Anthony DiNozzo had always been, and always would be a constant in his life.

And maybe it was about time he became okay with that.

* * *

><p><em>an: So I started this before season 12 premiered (so no Russian stuff yet). This was just based off of the stuff I saw between these two characters from season 1-11_

_so this story is utter crap. I'm just trying to clear out my documents manager._


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